Between Cons
by JackiLeigh
Summary: What kinds of jobs did Neal do between cons? Totally, completely AU.


Between Cons

**AN: I was inspired by Melles' fic 'A Friend in Need' to write this. What does Neal do between cons? How does he occupy his time? I think you may be surprised at some of the jobs I have him doing. Enjoy!**

I don't know. When you wear designer suits and drink expensive wine, you get a reputation. I didn't plan it, and it hasn't always been that way, trust me.

But I have found since moving into June's and wearing Byron's suits that I have…acquired a taste for the better things in life. I didn't plan it, it just happened. I mean, of course, I knew when I first met June that she was a woman of class, no question. And to be honest, I…I well, I don't know what I thought. I just…something drew me to her. Then when she started talking about poker, and those stories about her life, well….

I find, in my line of work, acclimation and adaptation, are traits of necessity. It's all about survival, and I have found, in this profession, control is a needed element to pull off the con, any con, really. But unfortunately, it is not always a readily available commodity. Conditions change, attitudes change, and the control you had over the situation only a moment ago can evaporate. Thus, I said all that to say that, when the river of schemes and would-be-victims of said schemes, dry up, one needs to find gainful employment.

In other words, get a REAL job.

I have had many of the afore-mentioned real jobs in my past. I have had jobs I loved dearly. I have had jobs I have hated with a passion. I have had jobs that I could possibly have considered a career.

My first 'real' job was as a bagger in a grocery store. But that didn't last long. I got really tired, really quickly, of old ladies telling me I didn't know what I was doing. I moved on to bus boy at a local pizza parlor near my house. I was sixteen at the time and absolutely hated the job. The dishwasher looked as if the only time water that ever touched him was when he accidently sprayed himself with the hose he used to wash the restaurant's dishes. I was glad to be promoted a few months after getting that job. I became a waiter, and within a week realized why the place couldn't keep wait staff. It was such hard work to do, then to have to hear customer complaints and to get rotten tips. And this place made you share tips. So I had to share with people who basically didn't do their jobs. I left before my first week was up.

I am not immune, nor am I allergic, to hard work. I found myself at a farmhouse in France. I had no money and no place to stay. The family I stayed with had a farm. The father was a restaurant owner and grew and raised much of the food he served his customers. He promised me if I would help him out, he would teach me how to cook. The arrangement lasted almost a year. It was very profitable for both of us. He gained a decent farmhand, and I gained an understanding and appreciation for food.

I know, its hard to picture me working on a farm. There is really nothing quite like hard physical labor. It…it was a great outlet for me. I didn't have to think about my work. I could just clear my mind and do the work. I appreciated the feeling of actually doing something. I was always so tired. But when I went to bed at night, I slept great and with a clear mind and conscience. I did anything and everything that needed to be done there. And I learned one very important, valuable lesson through it all. When a bull stomps and snorts at you, he really, truly, is not playing. I think if there was an Olympic event for fence climbing. I would have gotten a gold medal that day.

It seems like I've always had to prove myself to people. I took a job at a warehouse, in Detroit, loading freight onto trucks. I had just finished…well, attempted a con. The heat was on, and I wanted try again. I just needed a little time, which, unfortunately meant I had a period of no money. And no money meant no food. Plus, as easy as it is sometimes, pick-pocketing was getting old. I needed to change things up a bit. I figured this was a sure-fire way to fly below the radar. I mean, who would look for an art thief in a shipping warehouse.

My supervisor thought I would be too small to keep up with the larger guys who he normally hired to load trucks. And just comparing the two of us, I could see why. These guys, usually, outweighed me by about 70 to 80 pounds and they looked like Hell's Angels or hardened criminals. I was totally, completely, out of place. That was until they saw me work. Not only did I keep up with these guys, I packed my truck better. I got all the boxes in that should have been in, with room to spare. That job lasted a month. Then I moved on, but only after my second attempt at the con proved successful.

I got to put the chef skills I learned in France to use in Richmond, Virginia. I had been on my way to D.C. to the Smithsonian. It is truly a wonderful place, the Smithsonian. I would recommend everyone go and visit, at least once, in your lifetime. But, I found myself visiting a little open air café in Richmond. And I had to stop and taste the food. The place reminded me of many of the cafés in Paris. And, indeed, it specialized in French cuisine. I, at the time, needed a job so I offered the owner a challenge. I would cook him a magnificent dish, and he would give me a job. And if I didn't, well, there were plenty of other open-air cafés in Richmond. I got the job. And I stayed in a tiny studio apartment he had above the restaurant. He caught me, one day, he saw me sitting outside the restaurant. I had set up my easel, and I was painting. He said he liked my work. He said in exchange for the rent I owed him, I would cover the place with murals of the French country side. I readily agreed. I worked after operating hours and early in the mornings. Four months later walls were covered, and I was on to my next adventure in the nation's capital.

My next job was a logical one. Well, for me anyway. I became a guide at the Smithsonian. I blew the curator away with my knowledge of the painted works they had on display. I even told the curator some things she didn't know. She had to look up the information to verify its accuracy. This job was perfect in many respects. The museum, for one thing, hosted traveling shows. I was given inside information, and I sometimes got to help set up displays. That was hard for me, though. I had to resist the urge to just take an item and walk out. And trust me when I say that there were many items that I wanted. One night I slipped a multi-million dollar necklace into my pocket from a display that had just been taken down. The contents had been inventoried, and I just took it and walked away. By the time the theft was discovered, three months later, the item and I had parted company. And I was in wine country in southern California, squashing grapes with my feet.

And I know what you're thinking. 'Neal, a million-dollar necklace and you're squashing grapes?' I have learned a great many things since then. First of all, you line up buyers, Second, you get what 'they' want, not what strikes your eye. And third, never, ever put yourself in a place where you have to sell quickly. I was nervous in D.C. I felt I needed to leave town immediately. And I needed money to do it. I sold the item for just tens of thousands of dollars.

Well, you have the idea. Things are so different now. I look back and think, sometimes, that that must be somebody else's life. It was a lifetime ago, and I am a different person. My focus has changed. I used to live for the con. I lived for the thing I could steal. But just like with any drug, once the item was acquired and then sold and the money spent. I would need to have that high again.

Now, I…I live for the relationships I've formed. I live for the people I have in my life. I am grateful, in many ways, for the time I spent in prison. And I'm grateful it was Peter who caught me the second time, too. I will always be a conman, I have no delusions there. But, I also know that, for the first time in my life, I have people who care enough for me to give me a choice.

THE END


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